


After Party

by Anonymous



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Blood and Gore, Explicit Language, Gen, Hurt Dante, Nero's potty mouth, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22427344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: An unofficial, not humorous, ill-advised, self-indulgent continuation of the story where the Spardans get themselves drunk and it doesn't go very well. Mind the tags.
Comments: 32
Kudos: 94
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ummm… so I read the _Worth a shot or two_ fanfic by Engineerd, and then I blacked out, and this happened. I have no other explanation.
> 
> (If they want me to delete this, I will, but for now I'd rather ask for forgiveness rather than permission.)
> 
> There will be a part two and possibly a part three to this. I'm sorry for everything. I probably shouldn't post it. To be honest I'm terrified to post it. But I don't want to be that writer who has tons of unpublished fic on their hard drive that I would very much like to read. So you can have this! Yay?
> 
> Now excuse me while I run off to a place where no one can find me.

Turned out one nearly empty bottle wasn't actually enough to drink oneself to sleep when one was a half-demon, even if it was demon booze. All he got himself was a spinning head filled with fragmented, stubborn memories that wouldn't stop emerging no matter how deeply he pushed them under and an unfocused vision. Dante used it at its best capacity to glare at the bottle, but decided against throwing it at the wall to avoid drawing extra attention to himself. He'd had more than enough for tonight.

Well, at least he had the 'pretending it never happened' part mastered to perfection. He smothered his face in the pillow, shoved the distorted image of his brother's face back into the black void specifically reserved for most things Vergil in his mind and tried to go to sleep anyway.

Being drunk sucked. He hated it. He officially was never doing it again.

The voices downstairs went quiet. Careful, measured steps moved up the stairs. Dante clenched his fingers around the neck of the bottle, more than prepared to toss it at his brother's face if he decided to let himself in and carry on with the heart-to-heart, and kept himself still.

The steps paused right outside his door. Silence, then a sigh before they moved away once again. Dante listened, almost glad to have something to focus on beside his own fuzzy thoughts. A clink of glass, a shuffle of things put away, then a sound of the front door opening and closing. The same measured steps heard through the open window, seemingly a little heavier now, before moving away.

Dante waited. The steps weren't coming back. Neither was sleep. The broken, grotesque body of his brother, however, was.

Vergil would probably be back. Dante had told both his brother and nephew to let themselves out, but Vergil wasn't the one to simply back off when he wanted something. The only question was whether he got all the information he needed for tonight or if he simply wanted to get Nero, the buffer, out of the way before truly digging his teeth into the interrogation now that his guard was down and answers came spilling out.

To hell with it. Maybe he needed a little bit of air. He definitely wasn't drunk enough to be stuck alone in the house with a very sober and suddenly very inquisitive Vergil.

Swaying, he got up, staggered to the window, and triggered. 

________________________________________________  
Kyrie takes it on herself to let his father in. She speaks to him quietly in the corridor, but doesn't follow him to the living room where Nero resides in nor announces his presence, correctly assuming that he would recognize the voice, therefore not giving him a chance to opt out of the conversation.

"Dante is missing," is the first thing Vergil says as he passes through the doorway and his eyes land on Nero. Nero, on his way through his third glass of water, chokes and spills the liquid all over the couch and himself, glaring at his father in between coughing. 

Vergil raises his eyebrows slightly, his hand coming to rest on the hilt of the Yamato. Nero thinks he looks the mixture of impatient and apologetic, but then again, it is Vergil and he hasn't learned to read him yet, so it might be his wishful thinking.

"You said he was fine!" he accuses as soon as he can speak.

Vergil nods. "He was. I checked on him before I carried you home."

Nero fights the flush and the odd feeling of warmth in his chest at the off-handed announcement, focusing on the problem at hand.

"Was he still upset? What did he say?" 

Silence. Nero frowns.

"Was he asleep?"

More silence. A thought tentatively emerges in Nero's mind and he hopes he is wrong.

"You didn't even see him, did you."

Vergil looks away, shifting on his feet for a moment too long for the detraction to work, but tries to mask it as walking deliberately to the table where the water pitcher sits. The thought solidifies, pressing on the inside of Nero's already aching head.

"You fucker! You didn't even open the door!" 

"I…" Vergil pours the water into the glass, still not looking at Nero. "I listened from outside. He was in the room."

Nero drops his face into his palm and drags it down, not knowing whether to yell or to laugh or to give up entirely. His head is killing him. 

Vergil approaches him, holding out the water and the empty hand simultaneously. Nero considers before yielding his empty glass, grabbing the full one and downing it, cradling his forehead again.

Vergil puts the empty glass onto the table and pauses, seemingly out of things to busy himself with.

"I meant to talk to him," he admits eventually. Nero takes his palm away from his face to look at his father. Vergil has turned away, his back straight and tense, hand on the Yamato again. "After I brought you home. Unfortunately, he was gone by the time I returned."

Nero ponders the gesture. It might have seemed threatening if he didn't remember the steady, soothing thrum of his arm before it was torn away from him, and he is moderately sure that Vergil isn't currently thinking about stabbing anyone as much as he is seeking reassurance from the sword. 

Nero vaguely remembers rambling about devils and crying and being told to shut up the day before. He still feels guilty about upsetting Dante, but he didn't expect Vergil to be concerned about that at all, much less enough to let it show. Apparently his comments got to his father more than he was willing to admit.

Ignoring the perfect chance to rub it in and his own unease, Nero sighs. "He's probably fine, just sleeping it off. I mean, it's Dante. Not many demons or humans can harm him. He'll be back."

Both go quiet for a few moments. 

"…I'll ask Nico to start up the van." 

____________________________________________________________________  
"Where the _hell_ is he?"

Trish and Lady are not too worried, but they do promise to check the usual haunts. So far they have nothing to show for it. Calling Patty yielded no results except worrying the girl. Morrison hasn't offered Dante any jobs lately, not that the hunter was ever too enthusiastic about accepting those, so no luck on that front either. Vergil has fucked off to Sparda knows where and Nero tries very hard to not envision the scenario where both of the twins disappear again and are never heard from this time. 

So here they are now, driving around in the van checking the local bars.

Nico looks uncharacteristically subdued, uncomfortable, hunched over the wheel chewing on the unlit cigarette. She should have been the one making crude jokes about the family reunion going down in alcohol-infused flames and out of the window but, like yesterday, seems unwilling to engage. Nero doesn't know if it's because the topic stuck her harder than he realized and he needs to sick Kyrie on her to talk it out or because Dante still makes her lowkey starstruck.

He picks up a lighter and holds it out, and Nico turns and leans in without looking. He opens the window, holding back his complaints about the smell, and glares at the pavement, willing his wayward uncle to appear on it.

Nero's devil breaker is on as a precaution and he hopes he'd only get to use it to punch Dante in his stupid face for making everyone worry like this.

Which one of them thought getting drunk was a good idea again?

Ah right, Vergil. Well, it was both Dante and Vergil, but his father is the one who provided the booze and so he can easily be blamed for the entire thing. One more thing to resent his father for, but later, after they finally manage to locate Dante. Which they definitely will, and soon. Nero is sure of it.

________________________________________________________________  
A week passes. Lady and Trish try to play it cool, but they look more concerned each day without any news. Nico chain smokes and starts to rib him without mercy again, but avoids all the mentions of Dante like plague. Vergil comes and goes, his face darker and more distant every time. 

Nero doesn't cry. He takes jobs from Morrison, tears apart some demons and punches at the stone wall near another bar repeatedly until it cracks, wishing fervently they'd never touched any of the stupid demon drink. Then he goes home.

Kyrie takes off his stained coat, washes the demon blood off his face, brings him close, carding her hand through his short damp hair, and tells him it isn't his fault.

Nero doesn't cry. He hides his face in her chest, wraps his arms around her waist and trembles.

Two weeks pass. If Dante's playing with them Nero is going to do much more than punch him in his face. He's going to beat him up so thoroughly he'd think twice about doing something so stupid and indulgent ever again, and then he's going to let his father stab him through the chest repeatedly with the Yamato, and then Lady would shoot him, and Trish would electrocute him until he dropped and then it would be Nero's turn again.

There's barely anything left after Nero's done with another hoard. The number has no meaning to him. They are barely a challenge. Nico waits for him in the van, but he triggers and leaves her behind.

Red Grave still has plenty of abandoned half-destroyed buildings all over the place. He finds one and demolishes it completely, only pausing to make sure it's empty.

It only serves to intensify the dull ache in his chest.

Three weeks. No one has seen or heard anything. They have no clues left.

That is, until Vergil calls.

___________________________________________________________  
"I'm coming with you."

This is not a discussion. Vergil glares at him and they have no time to be fighting about this. He presses on.

"You are going to need all the backup you can get. What it's a trap? What if he can't fight? Someone is going to have to carry him. It's too risky to go alone and we're wasting time. I'm coming with you."

"I shouldn't have called you," Vergil says.

"You called me because going alone is stupid and you know it. Dante is family. We are going in and saving him as one. Deal with it."

Vergil scowls but doesn't argue, and Nero knows he won.

___________________________________________________________

Vergil briefs him on the basics. Apparently some psycho ( _it's psychic, Nero_ ) demon got a hold of Dante, took a glance at his memories and decided they were a nice gift to gain favor of the potential king of the Underworld, so he spent about three weeks extracting them.

Nero very carefully doesn't bring up the question of how exactly the demon came to this conclusion nor does he ponder it himself. Vergil's closed off expression is a good indication that the topic is off limits and they have work to do. He can't be distracted by arguing or have his father reconsider taking him along.

He still isn't prepared for what's coming after they enter another abandoned building through the portal, and later he would realize that there is no way he could have been. 

Vergil isn't prone to the same calm, sharp and focused fury that seems to overcome Dante when something does, indeed, manage to enrage him – which, admittedly, happens so rarely Nero only remembers witnessing it once. Vergil, for all his tight leash on his other emotions, is more like Nero in that aspect, quicker to anger, more reckless and easier lost in it. But his father is deceptively calm, brimming with contained threat as he demands that his brother be returned to him. Nero can almost feel the darkness rolling off him in waves and suppresses the urge to shiver and take a step back. 

Though he never claimed the title, his father _is_ technically very much in his right to do so.

The demon, the unassuming-looking guy with grey eyes and mousy hair, nods eagerly. Nero wonders how he can't sense the trouble he's in, then realizes that a demon who would try to make a deal with, much less target, a son of Sparda at this point must be a special, unique brand of stupid. A better question would be how the demon managed to survive up to this point in the first place. It's a mistake they will remedy soon.

"Of course, my lord! I didn't damage him too much, I know that you prefer to do that yourself."

 _What the fuck?_ Nero jolts, apprehension forgotten, torn between fury at the demon and confusion at the proclamation, looking at his father for answers. Vergil stills completely, his face a blank mask. The demon continues blithely unaware.

"Took some time to weaken him, but he wasn't all that difficult to break, to be fair, not like some of the others. Cracks all over the place, barely mended, I just pushed hard enough and it all came spilling out. I'm sure you could have acquired the knowledge without my help, my lord, but I realize why you wouldn't want the bother. There is a human lifetime to sort through and it's extensive work. Took me some time to organize but it's all done now!"

The demon demonstrates a red swirling orb as he is saying this, and he sounds so stupidly pleased and proud. Nero's vision darkens. His hand reaches to wrap convulsively around the Red Queen, but Vergil's palm on his shoulder stops him. Nero trembles with fury but stays put. Vergil walks forward, carefully controlled, resting his hand on the hilt of the Yamato, and says:

"I want to see him. Where is he?"

"Oh, just another room," the demon indicates the door with the gesture. "I…"

This is as far as he gets before the Yamato plunges through his core. The orb shatters.

And Nero is lost in the onslaught of memories that aren't his own.

_He is eight, curled into a shaking and sobbing ball in the closet as the fire rages around him, Vergil's name and their mother's dying scream still ringing in his ears._

_He is nineteen, standing on the edge of a precipice with his stinging hand still extended, a void opening up in his chest._

_He is forty-three and though his attention is on Nero, he can't forget for a moment that his brother is behind him. Vergil is there, waiting, but he is also fallen and there is a broken, distorted image standing in his place, the only one that never fully leaves. He is too scared to look so he doesn't._

_Vergil waits, but there is nothing separating him from the drop below, and the old fear clenches at his insides and doesn't let him linger on the goodbyes. He shoves it back enough not to let it show and clamps Nero on the shoulder with his throbbing palm and swaggers to the edge and very deliberately jumps first._

_…_

_He murdered his own brother. Murdered… murdered… murdered…_

_…_

_He lies on the floor of his shop in the darkness. The alcohol isn't strong enough. There is no alcohol strong enough. Nelo Angelo stares at him accusingly from the corner and he refuses to look back, because when Dante looks he is never there and he doesn't want him to leave._

_He sleeps. He dreams. He drinks. He sleeps some more. The alcohol doesn't help._

_Sometimes Vergil is there, but Nelo Angelo is a constant shadow over his shoulder, intertwined, inseparable now. Nelo is part of Vergil, and Vergil is part of Dante, the part he let fall into the abyss, the part he should have followed and nurtured and kept close, and Vergil is gone now and there's a void gaping in his chest in Vergil's place._

_He thinks about how Vergil has suffered, how he spent years in hell and was tortured and disfigured horribly and no one helped him, no one, and how Vergil died by his own brother's hand, the terrible no good brother that should have protected him, stood by his side, comforted him and only succeeded in stabbing him through._

_He curls up on the floor and sobs and sobs and sobs._

_He sleeps. He dreams. He drinks. He talks to Vergil. He sleeps some more._

_They are always silent, the ever looming presence on the edge of his vision._

_The alcohol doesn't help. He lies on the floor and stabs the Rebellion repeatedly through his chest until he blacks out. There. Problem solved. No dreams._

_The void aches when he is conscious, but being submerged in it almost feels nice. He'd have to do that again sometime._

_He does, but he always wakes up eventually._

_His shop is a mess. Trish, Lady and Morrison come and berate him and offer him jobs and stay and sigh and then go again, but they always come back and he thinks that perhaps they are trying to help._

_They are not helping. But it doesn't matter._

_He feels like nothing matters anymore, and really, it's not like he has anything left beside himself, and what good has having him ever done to anyone._

_He misses his brother._

_He buys the strongest alcohol he can find and downs it in bottles. It's still not strong enough to make him forget, but little things like this won't stop him from trying and he doesn't have anything better to do except resort to his devil arms. He always blacks out before he can take it too far and that is a shame._

_…He murdered his own brother._

_There is no salvation for him, no forgiveness to be found. There isn't a single thing that can make it better, no chance to make it right, to apologize and clutch Vergil to his chest and even try to make up for all the damage done to him. There is only himself, and Dante wishes that it would just stop. That he could stop._

_…_

_The jump into hell is something that he should have done to begin with, when they were nineteen and there was still a chance for both of them that Dante cast away. Now he does it for the lack of anything better to do. The fact that hell might be inhabited by something capable of finally ending his pathetic existence is not to be feared, it is to be embraced._

_This is also a hollow, useless, last-ditch attempt of reconnection that comes too late. There isn't much in hell for Dante, but there was for Vergil, and Dante never had the chance to ask him why._

_…_

_His brother has a son. He has a living family member. He smiles and jokes and keeps his front, but his mind is reeling trying to keep it together._

_It's only now, with the sudden clarity, that he sees how he lost the sense of time. He doesn't know how long he has simply existed, but the realization smashes into his chest like a precordial thump, and he is left painfully gasping and clutching at the thought with a desperation he has forgotten._

_It hurts but he doesn't want it to stop, ever, and even as the idea of telling Nero who he is crosses his mind he beats it down, vicious in his panic, shoves it back with the flames and the screams and his brother's mangled body and locks and bolts the door. There's no way in hell he's going to bring the Sparda family curse on that boy, tell him what his father has done, tell him that he has done to his father. In fact it might be better to cut contact entirely._

_He doesn't. He is selfish that way._

_He hides his brother's existence and steps into the place that should have been rightfully his, and god forgive him he enjoys it, he loves this boy even as the blame of this entire messed up situation is eating at him, dissolving his contentment, never allows him to be happy._

_Vergil has to have had Nero before Temen-ni-Gru._

_If Dante never existed…_

_"If you never existed…" V says, and he painstakingly pulls himself through the darkness just in time to see the Sparda pierce the ground near his face._

_He doesn't dwell on it. Not yet. He has a job to do and a brother to kill (again), and it's a thought he is holding back, disassociating from because it no longer matters. There is no hope for Dante, none for Vergil, but there is still for Vergil's son, so Dante is willing to do anything to save Nero from walking the same path as him. He can't envision it. The possibility consumes him with an all-encompassing panic and blinding, throbbing desperation. He'd rather hurt him, push him away, make Nero hate his guts. By that point Dante is not a part of the equation, so he only barely considers what happens to himself or their relationship (partnership? friendship?) after._

_It's only later, in hell, his exhausted brother sleeping by his side, that he bends over, overwhelmed, sick with the blood that that damned tree fed him, fed them both, and wishes fervently that it was possible to choose to not to have been born at all._

_Mom would not have wasted time saving him. She'd get Vergil instead, hell, she might have saved them both and still been alive. People of Red Grave would never see the raising of Temen-ni-Gru nor become juice for the Qliphoth, perhaps there'd be less demons running around, even less people hurt and killed by their cursed heritage. Nero would still have a father that he wouldn't have to consider killing. Mundus would be safely sealed away in the underworld where Vergil would never willingly fall, and he'd never get to turn him into…_

_He folds over again, but nothing comes up. He wipes his mouth, buries the mess under the dry earth with his boots, staggers away and curls himself on the ground, Nelo Angelo's accusing eyes digging into his back._

_Vergil doesn't wake._

_Fighting does help. It engages both his body and mind, leaves him exhausted and unable to think. He likes fighting Vergil, but he enjoys fighting with him more, their intentions and movements perfectly in synch as demons are torn to shreds around them._

_It's invigorating. It makes him absurdly, irrationally happy, and he can't stop his lips from stretching into a stupid grin. It makes him feel like things are right again, even if he is just fooling himself. It's the connection he always craved, the missing link, and if it's the only thing Vergil wants from him, the only way they can still reach out to each other, he'd take it. By this point he is willing to take anything, even if being repeatedly stabbed through various vital organs never gets less painful. It's a small price to pay, nothing he never did to himself._

_They will have to return one day. He wishes for this and fears this simultaneously, fears, perhaps irrationally, that the moment they leave that shred of connection would be lost and Vergil would simply hate him again. Or worse, leave him behind, this time for good._

_Being left behind is, in fact, one of the worst things he can think of, and now that he looks back, capable of rational thought, it hurts him to think that the two of them have done that to Nero. It was out of necessity, yes, but also because Dante had selfishly wanted to – not to abandon Nero for good, no, but to have this moment with Vergil just this once. He doesn't know if Nero would forgive them for it, can only stubbornly keep repeating to himself that the kid has a good heart and of course he would._

_They need to return._

_So one day, they do. ___


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm changing the rating because there is some unpleasantness in this.

He comes to slowly, painfully, not sure who or where he is. He stares at the dust bunnies floating in the air, his head a jumbled mess, the conflicting memories of events he knows of and doesn't merging and warring with each other until a saving line comes through the storm.

 _Nero, you are Nero_ , his mind supplies helpfully, and just like that, the line is drawn and the memories separate, the foreign ones retreating and slowly dulling in intensity like a vivid dream. He lying is on the hard dirty floor and his eyes are damp.

He sits up, realizes he is crying and feels the urge to laugh hysterically even though nothing about the situation is even remotely funny.

Nico could probably find the humor in it.

The fake memories are fading, but the pain isn't. 

_No_ , he corrects himself, wiping at his eyes, _not fake. Just not mine_.

He holds the images back, not daring to contemplate their magnitude, scared of what would happen if he tried to pull them up for re-examination. He never wants to relive this, and while he is technically aware that this real, he hasn't fully accepted it as reality yet, and he knows that when he does and has time to think about it, there is a good chance he'll end up as a useless, shellshocked wreck.

 _You did want to know_ , his conscience reminds him.

 _I wanted him to tell me_ , he argues back. _I never asked for this!_

Vergil is in front of him, still on his feet, but bracing himself with his arm against the wall as if sparing an injury. Whatever Nero can make out of his face looks ghostly pale, and for a moment Vergil is gone and Nelo Angelo stands in his place. 

Nero's heart stops and his lungs cramp, refusing to expand. He screws his eyes shut, shakes his head, and the image is gone.

 _Fuck_. That was terrifying. 

"Did you see…" he starts, and Vergil nods stiffly.

See is the wrong word to use. More like, lived through the entire experience, emotions and physical discomfort attached. 

Hell, but he didn't sign up for this, would never choose to do this. He and Vergil crossed the line before with the questioning, and that was a crass invasion of privacy at a vulnerable moment and they could have been kinder and handled it better. But it was at least a forgivable offence. What happened now is a violation, utterly twisted and wrong. The pain is growing in intensity, morphing into something he cannot name yet.

Nero feels like an intruder, shaken and wrong-footed and very much at fault for this. And still he wouldn't relinquish the knowledge if given the option. Beneath it all, he is somewhat glad that he does know now, the means notwithstanding, and the thought fills him with shame. 

"We shouldn't have…" he says, voice catching.

"Come," Vergil says, straightening with seemingly an enormous effort of will, and Nero can almost see the armor click back into place. The image makes him shudder again, but he pushes himself to his feet. "We need to find him." 

Trying to collect his scattered thoughts and emotions enough to think rationally is hard, but Nero is trying. Vergil moves past him and he follows.

Dante is on the floor, a complex circle drawn around him with what is unmistakably blood. There is a sword buried in his chest to the hilt and smaller daggers driven though his palms, pinning him down. He looks smaller, older, eyes sunken and closed, face ashen, and Nero lunges towards him but Vergil's fingers dig into his shoulder almost painfully and stop him before he has time to take more than a step.

Later, when he has the time to reflect on it, Nero will realize that the wave of potent fury he suddenly feels for his father is fueled both by Dante's experiences and his own, still unresolved, anger, aggravated by weeks of worrying himself sick. But now he doesn't pause to consider any of this as his devil breaker curls into a fist and rushes towards Vergil's face.

Vergil doesn't block or dodge, instead he grabs the wrist and redirects the punch to the side, making Nero miss, keeps his grip firm and coolly meets his gaze. "Get a hold of yourself, Nero. Your rashness could end up harming him further."

For a moment Nero is left speechless.

" _My_ rashness? It's your fucking fault this happened, all of it!"

Vergil holds his gaze, and Nero sees his expression change. His control slips, and Vergil looks like Nero's punch did, in fact, land, face open and unguarded. His anger abates to a simmer, and his fist relaxes. 

"I know," Vergil says, and lets go. Nero remains in place as he strides towards the circle to study it. He touches the edge with a finger, then swiftly pulls out the Yamato and drives her neatly through the line. 

Sparks of electric blue energy spread through the circle and go out again. Vergil leaves the Yamato where she is and steps inside. Nero doesn't wait for permission to follow and Vergil doesn't try to stop him this time.

If possible, Dante looks even worse up close. Still unable to believe he is actually there, Nero drops down and squeezes his shoulder gently, hoping to wake him up. 

His uncle is cold to the touch, and, chilled with panic, Nero moves his shaky fingers to the pulse point on his neck. The beat is there, and Nero could puke with relief.

Vergil kneels on the other side but doesn't reach out to touch his brother. Nero might have snapped at him if he tried, so it's probably for the best.

They don't speak as they get to the gruesome task of pulling the blades out. The wounds bleed sluggishly and show no signs of healing like they normally would. This is concerning but can't be helped for now. 

Very carefully, almost afraid to do so, Nero gathers Dante into his arms and gets to his feet as Vergil collects the blades. He keeps them for some reason, tying their hilts together with a ribbon for easier handling, and Nero doesn't ask him why, though there is a scathing, petty comment itching on the tip of his tongue. Vergil waits for him to leave the circle before stepping out himself, pulling out the Yamato and opening a portal, his motions flowing into each other gracefully as if it was one practiced move.

Nero settles Dante on the couch and just stands there for a few moments, eaten by anger and guilt alike, adrift and very much ill prepared to face either of the twins right now. He tired and wants to sit down and feel nothing for a minute or two.

He turns and runs up the stairs instead, strips Dante's bed of its blanket and pillow and grabs the washcloth and the first aid kit from the bathroom. It's woefully underequipped since no one bothered to stock it for months, if not years, but it's a miracle it's there at all, so he isn't going to complain.

By the time he returns Vergil is nowhere to be seen.  
_________________________________________________

Dante doesn't wake.

Nero leaves him to his rest, goes to another room to call Kyrie and tells her everything. She gives him all of her attention, listens without interrupting, not asking questions unless it's to clarify something, and doesn't offer any advice or platitudes when he is done.

"I'm coming over," she says instead.

Nero is ridiculously, impossibly grateful to have her in his life and he tells her this much. She laughs, and he closes his eyes, losing himself in the musical sound. She isn't even here yet, and already he can breathe easier and feels more centered, like not all hope has been lost and there is still a chance to fix this.

He is concerned about her going alone, given their history, but she informs him that Nico would drive her there and back. That reassures him because Nico actually drives like a sane person when Kyrie is in the van and he trusts her to behave and not kill his girlfriend in a car accident.

He thinks Dante looks a little better when he returns to the living-room to check on him.

Nero calls everyone and tells them the gist of what happened, but doesn't explain demon's intentions, nor mentions the orb, the memories and Vergil's absence.  
__________________________________________________  
It's been half a day. Nero has showered, cleaned up the shop to be at least slightly more presentable, cooked a quick meal and taken a short involuntary nap which ended in a rather unpleasant, explosive manner. During this time, alone with his thoughts, his anxiety has sky-rocketed and all of his insecurities have reared their ugly head again. 

He wishes Dante would just wake up and is terrified that he would. He doubts that his uncle would react well to being bear-hugged and sobbed into and is only half-sure that he'd be able to contain the response.

He finds himself checking on Dante's injuries once in half an hour and is feels more and more frustrated and helpless every time he finds them unchanged.

Vergil is still gone and Dante is dead to the world ( _wrong word, wrong word, he is only asleep_ ) when the van rolls in front of the shop, announcing Kyrie's arrival. Nico exits the van and waves at him in greeting, already lighting a cigarette. She must have held back the entire way here and Nero is impressed, though not surprised. He shouldn't have expected anything less from her.

"You coming?" he asks after he gives Kyrie a hug.

"Nah," Nico says. "I'm only the escort. You kids call me when you are done."

Nero is relieved, because as much as he is fond of her he isn't ready to pour his heart out when she is within hearing distance. Something must show on his face, because Nico responds with a sly grin.

"Don't you worry, pretty boy, I am learning all the juicy details later." She doesn't wait for Kyrie to contradict her, climbing into the driver's seat and turning the ignition.

Nero shakes his head, ignoring the obvious attempt to rile him up, and leads Kyrie inside.

"What are you going to do?" she asks, his palm between her two, rubbing her thumb against his knuckles. They are in the kitchen, sat at the angle of the table across each other.

Honestly Nero doesn't know. Right now he feels like he's in too deep and like trying to reach the surface while dragging both his deadweight uncle and asshole father behind him might just make everything worse and drown all three of them. He tells this to Kyrie. 

She smiles at him wryly. "It's a good thing you have an extra set of arms for that task."

He opens his mouth and closes it again. She isn't wrong, but...

"There are no guidelines for this," Kyrie says. "And it's daunting, of course it is. Complex, and the cost of failure is high. I can't promise you that it will work or if your help will make everything perfect. But one thing I know for sure. You are a good, kind, strong man, and you are going to give it your best like you always do. You are the best person for the task. If something does go wrong, it's won't be because of you."

Nero didn't know that he needed to hear that until he did. He exhales and closes his eyes. She moves to stand and wrap her arms around him, and he sinks into the hold.

Her faith in him is something he is never going to take for granted.

She can't stay for long, he knows this. She has responsibilities at the orphanage, and coming here on such short notice must have been difficult as it was.

He drinks in every moment that she is there, and when she does leave him it is with a new resolve. Giving it his best is something that he can manage.

___________________________________________________  
Dante isn't waking up.

The wounds on his palms are slowly scabbing over, the one in his chest has stopped bleeding, but it hasn't yet closed after two days passed and it should have been more than enough for it to fully heal.

Nero calls Kyrie and is not reassured. She mentions an infection, something he didn't even consider. He still thinks it's unlikely to happen to them, since it didn't apparently happen in three weeks, but the worry won't stop nagging at him and he ends up researching standard medical procedures that he only has a bare grasp of. He remembers the day his arm got torn off with a shudder but also with the now clear realization that he hadn't even tried to stop the massive bleeding, and, was he not part demon, the shock of pain and blood loss might have killed him right there and then. He tucks it as another thing to resent Vergil for and puts his new knowledge to use to the best of his abilities.

The info includes keeping the wounds clean. He changes the bandages, inspecting the injuries for signs that now learned to recognize, and is more relieved than he is willing to admit to find them healing with no complications, if much slower than he would like.

It's still at a higher rate than normal human healing though, so that's something.

It might be an overkill, and if he knew Dante would laugh at him for fretting (well, everyone would laugh at him, to be honest) but Nero reads the instructions and injects the antibiotics, just to make sure.

The alcohol-drenched cotton ball comes away from Dante's skin covered in gray, and Nero recalls the dust in the building and curses inbred demons for not picking cleaner locations for their hideouts. 

It is an issue, but not the one he is willing to tackle at the moment. It's a thought he denies outright at first, not only due to his own embarrassment but because there has been more than enough invasion of privacy, and taking it a step further feels like a breach of whatever little trust still might be left. 

Instead he makes sure that Dante is comfortable and warmly covered. He presses the back of his hand against his cheek and is reassured to find the skin is no longer cold and not ravaged with fever. Then, on a whim, he pushes his forehead into Dante's shoulder and sighs.

"You found a great way to avoid conversation, Dante," he mumbles. "Very effective. You have to know I'm too stubborn for this to work though, so you might just wake up now. You are not getting out of this."

Not even a twitch, though he hasn't really expected any reaction. His hand finds Dante's shoulder and squeezes it.

"You are not getting out of this," he repeats. "So I'm saying this now, and I will be saying this again until you get it through your thick skull. What you did is stupid. It's one of the most stupid things I've ever seen anyone do, and you know who my father is, so that's saying something. It's also unfair. I understand why you wouldn't want to tell me. But you have friends. You should have told _someone_." His voice cracks a little. "You didn't need to go through this alone. There was no need for this at all."

He catches himself before he starts listing all the ways Dante has been destroying himself over the years because exploding at him feels wrong even when he is unconscious, and goes for a lighter tone.

"Look where it got you. Stuck with me now. Probably not your first pick but you don't have a say in this, and no one to blame but yourself. You aren't talking yourself out of any family events in the near future, old man."

He pulls his face away and looks at his uncle's face very seriously.

"I'm not losing you to this." And it is a promise.

Four days pass with no change except for the wounds slowly closing. Vergil doesn't re-emerge, but Nero knows that he is around somewhere. He knows this because Lady and Trish are away on a long-term job, Morisson stopped by a couple of times and dropped some money, calling it advanced payment and refusing to take it back, and Patty showed up stocked to the brim with food and medicine, spent a couple of hours sobbing into Dante's chest, carefully avoiding the wound, and left with her eyes still wet. She still visits, even offers help, but there isn't much that she can do and being here is obviously upsetting to her, so Nero says his thanks but doesn't take her up on the offer.

Nero doesn't go to sleep on purpose, but his body shuts down on him at random intervals. He jolts to awareness from unpleasant dreams in chairs, armchairs, on the couch and on one memorable occasion the floor, half-leaning against the bed, always covered with a blanket that he definitely didn't put there himself. 

This, among other small things like the forgotten dishes ending up miraculously washed, is a dead giveaway of Vergil's presence.

Nero isn't sure what to think about his father anymore. His anger has quieted, replaced by an almost longing sadness, and he regrets having blown up at him earlier even if a part of him still believes he had deserved it. Though he doesn't believe he owes his father an apology, he prays that it hasn't destroyed their tentative relationship, and the fact that Vergil didn't just up and leave gives him a measure of hope.

The distance makes him anxious but he is almost grateful for it, assuming it's temporary. He doesn't know what to tell Vergil if he did show up. This is definitely not the time to shout out all the grievances from the list at him. All in all, his father is another can of worms that he isn't prepared to open right now, and it's very likely that Vergil feels the same about him.

It's the evening of day four and Nero frowns at the thin layer of old grime covering his uncle's skin and hair. He finally shoves down his embarrassment and grits his teeth. Dante is sick, it needs to be done, they are both adults and related, and really, there is no reason to be weird about this other than his childish reservations. (Besides, no one needs to know about this.) 

His face is hot when he does get to the task, but he resolutely focuses his thoughts on quietly praying that Dante doesn't pick this exact moment to finally wake up. 

As examines the reduced muscle mass and the now notably sunken stomach, he finds himself frowning and thinking up ideas of how to get some food into his unfortunate uncle instead. Dante survived a month-long coma with seemingly no ill effects, but it's not like he has a demon tree pumping him full of human blood this time, and apparently the demon half is working on overdrive and isn't enough to sustain him indefinitely.

His discomfort is lessened considerably as he is consumed in his thoughts, and by the end his movements are more absent and clinical. He got too worked up because of what turned out to be easier than he expected and wasn't so bad, really.

He is not telling anyone about this. Not even Kyrie. Not because he thinks Kyrie would make fun of him but because she might offhandedly mention it to Nico and then he would have to spend the rest of his life being reminded of it in the most degrading ways in the most inopportune situations.

He dries Dante's hair with a towel and resolves to treat the entire thing as something to be forgotten and Never Mentioned To Anyone Period.

Down in the kitchen Nero puts on the kettle and sits heavily in the chair, rubbing at his tired eyes in frustration.

Something is wrong. The slow healing, the weight loss, the deep coma-like sleep. Why won't his uncle just wake up?

And then he freezes in horror, gripping the edge of the table against the kitchen floor swimming sideways, at the thought that damns upon him out of nowhere.

The demon said that he didn't do too much damage, but the demon was probably suffering from some brain damage himself if not lacking the grey matter entirely. How easy would it be to miscalculate, not take into account that Dante was part human and cause all kinds of unforeseen complications?

How large was the damage? Was it irreparable? Could it mean that Dante might never wake up at all?

This… this is something he didn't consider before.

Shit. _Fuck. Nononononono…_

He hyperventilates, presses a palm against his mouth and frantically tries to recall the events of that day. His mind chaotically throws multiple details at him in until it zooms in on one, and everything screeches to a grinding halt.

Vergil. Vergil must have known something. He recognized the circle, neutralized it before breaching the line. There must have been a purpose to this, and Nero needs to know exactly what his father did right. Now.

Their standstill needs to come to an end. Nero leaves the kitchen with a newfound purpose and feels like an idiot screaming his father's name into a seemingly empty shop.

His brain supplies him with an image of Vergil lurking about in the corners and jumping into a closet every time Nero enters a room, and for some reason he finds it absolutely hysterical and only barely suppresses a giggle. 

He listens, but there is only silence. He frowns when something else comes through.

It's a sound of someone choking, and it's coming from upstairs. Nero clears the steps in one fell swoop, his wings emerging behind him, and kicks the door, gun already out.

Dante is on his back, and it takes Nero a few moments to realize that he is coughing up blood.

_Shit._

Panicked, he rushes over but then pauses, hands hovering over his uncle, unsure where to touch and how to help him. Should he elevate him? Should he take the pillow away instead? _What should he do?_

Dante coughs harsher, makes a gurgling sound like he's drowning, more droplets spluttering out, and Nero is completely out of his depth and losing his shit and so he does the only thing he can come up with.

"Vergil!" he yells out hysterically. "Vergil, where the fuck are you, I need your help! Dante is fucking dying!"

Vergil doesn't run as much as he teleports into the bedroom. He only observes the situation for a second before flipping Dante onto his right side where the injury is, tearing out the pillow in one fluid movement. A trickle of blood comes pouring out of his mouth, smears the sheets and drips on the floor and it's too much, Dante can't afford to lose this much, he's going to die _shitshitshitshitshit..._

"Ice," Vergil says, keeping Dante steady with a palm against his shoulder.

Nero rushes downstairs, cursing the fact that the fridge is so far away, and panics when he doesn't see what he's looking for in the freezer. He grabs a pack of some vegetables because it's better than nothing and sprints back at breakneck speed. The smell of blood and decay hits him as he reaches the bed.

Dante is coughing nonstop, barely able to take in a breath, and it sounds like there's something more solid than blood moving in his chest. Vergil presses the pack against the injury and holds it there, but his mask is chipping and Nero can see the fear in his face. Vergil doesn't know if this is going to work.

And then Dante coughs up what seems to be a small chunk of flesh, the smell of decay intensifies and Nero officially freaks out.

"The hell is this? What is happening?"

Vergil lets go of Dante's shoulder, picks up the piece from where it has landed on the bedsheet and inspects it with a characteristic lack of disgust or reservation that Nero isn't sure he would ever be able to muster up himself. The blood covering his hands and splattered all over his clothes and face doesn't help the overall grotesque impression.

"It's a lung," he announces eventually, almost clinically. 

_"What?"_ Nero isn't sure he heard that right, and he definitely doesn't want to think how Vergil even knows what a piece of an organ looks like separated from a body.

"A lung," Vergil repeats. "A dead one. His body is getting rid of the necrotic flesh."

"Are you saying he's literally coughing up a lung," Nero breathes out, not voicing it as a question. Vergil nods anyway.

"This is going to take a while," he says. "Might want to bring a basin for the rest of it."

"The rest of it," Nero mouths. 

He dives into the bathroom for the requested object, wordlessly passes it to his father, then returns to throw up whatever is left of his dinner. 

He can still hear Dante through the closed door.

He walks to the bedroom after he's finished, legs unsteady, ignores the smell and very deliberately doesn't take a closer look at the basin in his side vision. Instead he asks: "Is there anything we can do?"

"Not unless you want to cut him open to speed up the process."

Nero can feel the blood physically drain from his face.

He exits the room, switches off the kettle and takes residence on the couch downstairs.

Dante keeps making those terrible sounds for two hours, and when they stop Nero is hesitant to go inside the bedroom because he almost doesn't want to know what he would find.

The smell of decay hits him as soon as he enters, stronger than before. The basin is on the floor, filled with blood mixed with chunks of black, deadened flesh.

Vergil is sitting in bed with his back against the headrest, eyes closed, Dante clutched close to his chest, palm slowly stroking along his spine. Both of them are covered in blood. So are the floor and the bed, the sheets completely soaked through. 

Dante looks terrible and Nero can't tell if his chest is moving. His own breath catches in his throat.

As if sensing, or perhaps hearing, his reaction, Vergil tiredly opens his eyes to look at him and clarifies: "He still lives. Even a full human doesn't require both lungs to survive. He will recover from this, even if it will take him some time to wake."

Relief makes his knees weak, but he refuses to sit on the bed. Instead, for the first time in a week, Nero fully takes his father in. He looks tired, unkempt in a way he doesn't remember seeing even when he emerged from hell after a near-year absence. His face is impassive, but there is a hesitation to his normally purposeful and confident movements. It's strange, seeing him so uncertain.

Nero was planning to tackle the situation straight on, but perhaps this calls for a different approach. He sighs, grabs some garbage bags from downstairs and gets himself busy with the cleanup because the stench is horrific and the entire scene looks like something out of a horror movie. It might not bother Vergil, but Nero is another matter.

"Does this happen to you guys often?" he asks, loading the disgusting contents into a bag by flipping the basin over inside of it, trying not to shudder.

"Not as far as I'm aware of," Vergil responds. He has wrapped his own coat loosely around Dante's shoulders but has yet to let go of him. He doesn't elaborate and Nero shoots him a glance.

"When this is done, we are going sit down like normal people. We are going to have tea, with biscuits and all that shit. Patty supplied us with enough strawberries for a year. We are going to sit down, and we are going to have a nice, long, civil family talk. You will explain everything to me."

Vergil looks at him bleakly and Nero takes it as agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this is not how you stop a lung from bleeding and thank you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's short, but I figure I have delayed enough.

It takes a while and Vergil is barely of any help, but eventually they all move downstairs, Dante located on the couch, and Nero puts a cup of tea on the table in front of his father and settles into the chair across from him.

There isn't a good place to start this and he feels like dropping his head into his folded arms and sleeping for a month. 

Vergil stares into the cup, and belatedly Nero realizes he doesn't know if he even likes tea in the first place, much less how he prefers it. 

"What is it? Wrong brand? Wrong temperature? Not strong enough?"

Vergil takes a long sip, puts the cup down and thanks Nero with an aura of distant politeness. Conversation dies again. Frustration prickles at him. He peruses through questions and accusations and neutral topics as he studies his father, but when he finally catches Vergil's eyes what he blurts out instead is:

"Have you slept at all?"

Surprise flashes over Vergil's face before he schools it again. "I am well."

"Not what I asked," Nero scowls at him.

"Demons hardly require any sleep, Nero."

"You are only half-demon. And I guess that's a no."

Vergil stares at him like he's a riddle he can't figure out, looking almost stunned, and eventually concedes: "I have rested," and it's probably as much as Nero is going to get.

He moves a plate of cookies closer to his father and frowns at him until he takes one. 

"Start talking then."

And Vergil does.

They made quite a few new enemies while traversing through hell. Most of them are still down there, and if they make it upstairs they know better than to approach the Spardans. Apparently the demon was a newbie in this world, and while he was the one enacting the dumbass plan he didn't come up with it himself, and he most likely had help securing Dante. It's not fully known how and where they stumbled across him or if he was awake when they did, his inebriation certainly being a factor in this. 

"So… they used the idiot as a pawn for what, revenge?"

"I did not waste time hearing out their motivation. I merely disposed of them."

And okay, this sounds like bullshit to Nero. It grates, but for all he knows being pushy might cause his father to clam up and coldly storm away, and it won't do when there are more pressing questions in need of answering. 

"What did they do to him? You knew what the circle was for."

"The sigil's purpose is to suppress the demon."

"Suppress? Like seal away or something?"

"A better description would be 'to put it to slumber'."

"But… you broke the line. Wasn't it enough to wake it up?"

"The demon is dormant. Its capacities are greatly reduced, but not fully restricted, and the energy it can spare is being put to immediate use."

"To keep Dante alive, you mean."

"Correct."

"Is there any way to… uh… jump-start it or something? Non-violently?"

"It's a precarious balance I wouldn't risk upsetting until the injuries are fully healed."

Nero laughs uneasily, still shaky from the recent ordeal. "Well, the massive blood loss wasn't enough to immediately kill him, so I wouldn’t worry."

He resists the urge to glance in the direction of the couch, so when Vergil looks away he witnesses it front and center. His father could be attempting to hide his concern, but no, he had no reservations basically cradling his brother in Nero's full view less than an hour before, so it doesn't fit. It feels almost shifty, like he is trying to conceal something else. Suspicion stirs in his gut.

"Actually I'm not sure now he survived it," he probes on. "I thought we were going to lose him there for sure."

Vergil avoids his eyes. Nero reflects on his father's pale, exhausted look again and says:

"Holy shit."

Vergil slumps a little and Nero shakes his head.

"'Precarious balance', huh? You crazy bastard."

He gets up, takes the casserole of rice and chicken out of the fridge and puts it into the microwave, then refills Vergil's empty cup and emphatically shoves it in front of him. 

"You have to make sense, Nero," Vergil says, but the objection sounds half-hearted like he knows he already lost.

"Identical twins, remember? I am making sense. Drink the fucking tea."

He needs more than the leaf juice, but Nero's getting there and the liquid should help anyway. 

Vergil drowns it in one go, as dignified as he can muster, puts the cup down and fixes Nero with a miserable, but firm stare.

"Dante can't know about this."

At first Nero is perplexed. It was a simple solution, genius, really, and he should have come up with it himself. Vergil took up the role of a blood-sucking, blood-supplying tree in absence of one, and he was literally the best candidate for it and there was probably no better, more effective way to ensure Dante's immediate survival. Why he would do it secret and then try to hide it Nero has no idea. 

But that's just it though. Dante hated the fucking tree and being attached to it, right? Knowing that he did and giving him no choice in the matter… Vergil's reluctance suddenly makes a lot more sense.

Nero nods tiredly, painfully reminded that the physical injuries are only a part of what they have to deal with and probably the easier one, too.

"How did you even do it?" he asks, more to distract himself than anything.

Vergil wordlessly pulls a sealed IV line out of his coat and puts it on the table, and okay, now Nero is genuinely impressed. His father came in prepared, and taking into account that he knows how to use the thing, it doesn't look like a one-time improvised gig like he thought it was.

"How long?" he isn't quite able to keep the awe out of his voice.

A corner of Vergil's mouth curls up. "I had no way of knowing I would be in need of these until we retrieved my brother. Leaving to acquire them was a logical option."

The inventive, resilient asshole. Vergil disappeared on day one, and Dante looked better after Nero's conversation with Kyrie. Turns out wasn't just wishful thinking. Whether he picked up the skill on the go, learned it in the weeks Dante was missing or had practice earlier, he either came up with the solution remarkably quickly or gave it some consideration beforehand, and Nero doesn't know which one is more impressive. He only realizes he is gaping at his father when the microwave pings.

Nero assembles the plates on autopilot. He needs more research. What food is best suitable to replenish blood loss? He probably should make some soup. That would be the best option for Dante when he wakes up as well, none of that greasy pizza, puppy eyes be damned.

The rest of their supper is spent in a companionable silence.  
____________________________________________  
Nero does consider calling everyone and informing them of recent developments, at least in a general sense, but then discards the idea. There is nothing any of them can do that he and Vergil haven't done or aren't doing already, and the only purpose it would serve is worrying them unnecessarily. For all he knows the lung will grow back by the time any of them visits, and it will be old news. Besides, he's way too wrung out to handle prolonged discussions and possible emotional outbursts that would follow.

He settles into the armchair, telling himself it would only be for a couple of minutes, and wakes to the sunlight pouring out of the window. As usual, the blanket is there, but, uncommonly, so is Vergil, occupying the second armchair with the book in his lap.

The rest of the day passes normally. Nero goes through the usual routine, cooks and does research. Vergil helps, but does leave again in the evening, stating a need to clear his head, and if there is more to it Nero isn't about to push. He knows how suffocating the house feels.

He enters the living-room with a sigh.

There is a soft groan coming from the direction of the couch. Nero's heart starts pumping in a fearful, painful hope. Jaw and fists clenched, he watches Dante's face intently, anxious for any signs of change, and sure enough, his brow furrows, his hand flying up to rest tentatively on his chest. And then he finally, finally opens his eyes.

"Oh man, is that what a hangover is like? Kinda feels like getting stabbed."

His voice is hoarse and he lets out a choked cough as he is finished, but he is awake, talking and coherent. The urge to run to him and just shake him before crushing him against his chest is strong, but Nero keeps himself locked in place. Rehearsed speeches and arguments evaporate from his head.

_"Should we tell him?" Nero asks._

_Vergil looks pensive. "I believe we will have to, eventually. Secrets like this have a tendency to be unearthed, and it would be better if he learned of this from us."_

_He isn't wrong, but…_

_"He'll think we're only kind to him out of pity," Nero says bitterly._

_"Walking around him on eggshells for no reason might put him on edge even more," Vergil replies. "And there is a chance he is already aware of what transpired. We need to see what he remembers and act accordingly."_

_"So we are winging it," Nero concludes, and it sounds like a recipe for disaster._

_"We are acquiring the necessary intel before deciding the next course of action."_

_"I don't like the sound of that." But he can't come up with anything better._

He wishes he came up with something better. Dante's eyes roam about the room until he catches Nero's gaze, and the pained grimace slips away immediately as he beams:

"Ah, if it isn't my dear nephew! Still here, I see. How's the head?"

He pictured it before, but it still hits him hard. The cheerfulness emerges so readily, barely a moment spared, too quick to be anything but an ingrained habit. Nero wonders how he never noticed what lies behind it and recognized it for the mask that it is. His heart and throat constrict with sorrow, the idea of an impromptu hug sounds less and less ill-advised every second, and _nonono, don't lose it, keep it cool, you'll freak him out, calm down._

"Sore," he responds truthfully, because a dull ache is now a constant, and adds: "You look like crap, old man."

"Feel it too. Breathing's weird. Getting drunk is overrated. No idea what Vergil sees in it."

"You in pain? Dizzy?"

"Nah, it's sort of… numb, I guess."

Belatedly, he realizes that the initial plan of learning what Dante knows and doesn't is a lame, or at least an unrealistic one, because with him it's even more difficult to tell than with Vergil. At least Vergil, for the most part, either keeps his silence or straight up announces he doesn't want to discuss the topic. Dante tends to endlessly divert and avoid it, and Nero doesn't know if his uncle is playing him or really doesn't remember the last month.

Focusing on the physical is safer. It's a familiar territory.

"You did. Get stabbed, I mean."

Dante lets out an easy laugh: "Really? Which one of you did the deed?"

It wasn't meant to sting, but fuck it blindsides him and he's struggling to keep his expression neutral. Probably isn't succeeding very well.

"No one. We found you pinned to the floor with a sword." 

"Probably had it coming."

"You didn't," Nero says, more forcefully than he intended, and Dante shoots him a wary, curious look. Shit, he is giving away too much. Tone down. Backtrack. "Any idea who could have done it?"

"Uhhh… too many people… no?"

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

"Seriously? You are giving up like that? No pummeling me with questions?"

"Nope."

"Now you have me." Dante watches him, head tilted, and then tries to sit up. "This is like twilight zone. What the hell's going on?"

Nero's by his side in an instant. "Stop moving! It'll start bleeding again." He pushes him into a sitting position and shoves a pillow behind his back. "There. Questions and explanations later. Food and water now." He can't resist adding, "Besides, Vergil isn't back yet." And Dante's expression turns back to wary after that announcement.

The task at hand feels like navigating a minefield, and as he enters the kitchen to pour the water Nero catches himself praying to a god he doesn't believe in that they wouldn't utterly fuck it up.

He wishes Vergil would return sooner.


End file.
